


Good for Nothing

by TheSprout



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSprout/pseuds/TheSprout
Summary: Victor can't cook for his life, but Yuuri loves him anyway.





	Good for Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is a drabble for the [YOI Anniversary Countdown](https://yoianniversary.tumblr.com/prompt)
> 
> It is very similar to my previous Victuuri work [Blurry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027273) , I hope you don't mind.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Yuuri pushed the handle down with his elbow and let the door swing open as he held the groceries under his chin. As he took a step in the apartment he got startled by a chaotic noise from the kitchen, the ringing music of pans and cutlery banging together and echoing loudly in the living room. Yuuri sighed, betting that Makkachin had once again jumped on the kitchen counter, and put down the grocery bags to take of his coat.

“Victor?” Yuuri asked across the room as he untied his shoelaces, “Did she push over the blue platter from Venice? I really liked it…”

There was no answer but a new metal sound, maybe a saucepan lid or a cakepan hitting the floor.

Yuuri frowned and hastily hopped to the kitchen with only one shoe on to try and stop the mess.

Whatever he had been expecting, it was not what he had in front of him.

The kitchen looked like a true battlefield. On the floor in front of the fridge was a yellow puddle, formed by what looked like a whole dozen of smashed eggs. Utensils were scattered over the tiles as if they had fallen off the counter and the fruit basket had apparently suffered the same fate, letting lemons and oranges roll in the middle of the living room. The color of the countertop was barely discernible under a heavy and powdery coat of flour, seemingly glued on by a layer of grease and displaying betraying marks of finger prints. The stove and the wall behind it showed surprisingly large burns and the sink was hidden under a pile of dirty dishes that dripped in batter and oil.

But Yuuri did not notice any of these details, because in the middle of the chaos stood Victor, looking both utterly helpless, and impossibly hot.

Victor was shirtless under his apron, the thighs of his tight dark jeans were covered with white flour marks and strands of his hair were messily stuck together and pointing in random directions. There was something that looked like egg yolk on his cheek and his silver eyebrows were dusty with flour. He held a fork in one hand and a kitchen scale in the other.

They looked at each other for long seconds an Victor finally talked.

“I can explain,” he said blankly.

“Is this a trap or something?” Yuuri asked in bewilderment.

“What?”

“Why are you shirtless?”

“I spilled oil on my shirt, it’s ruined,” Victor croaked, and his mouth distorted in a sad wince.

“Are you… cooking?” Yuuri asked gingerly.

“Don’t laugh!” Victor said with a tiny voice.

Yuuri bit his lower lip. He needed to know how Victor had managed to paint the kitchen with cake batter and then he would make sure to comfort his clumsy husband and kiss that pained look away.

“I’m not laughing. What were you making?”

“Piroshki.”

“That’s a rather advanced recipe,” Yuuri admitted.

“Yuri can do it.”

“Maybe you should have started with something easier… Like a sandwich?”

“I’m not that bad,” Victor said, slightly embarrassed.

“You burn our eggs every other morning, and when you don’t it’s because I was to one who fried them.”

Victor wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, smearing even more flour on his face.

“I’m sorry I can’t do anything nice,” he whined.

Yuuri sighed fondly. Victor was over dramatic about pretty much everything in life. He had a special offended look meant for people who called his dog a “good boy” when Makkachin was obviously a girl, he cried if a TV commercial had a sad background music and he had one day begged Yuuri not to divorce him after he accidentally broke his usual coffee mug, an inestimable Färgrik from Ikea.

Yuuri stepped over the raw omelet on the floor and gently took the fork and the scale out of Victor’s hands to put them on the counter.

“You’re right,” he nodded, “you’re absolutely good for nothing. I’d be so happy if I had married someone who can fry eggs but no, I had to fall in love with an Olympic champion.”

“I can’t do anything off the ice,” Victor shrugged.

“You’re absolutely terrible at life… Not even thirty and owner of your apartment, happily married, taking care of your dog and cooking for your husband… I should call social services to report conjugal abuse, you’re awful.”

“I only have my apartment because I won a lot of skating competitions...” Victor’s eyes widened briefly, “Even you I found you on ice, oh my God…”

“I kinda feel like a rescued penguin right now.”

“Yuuuuuri I’m sorry…” Victor whimpered.

“Victor listen, you can’t cook for your life, I can’t deny it, but you have so many other skills… You can drive better than me for example,” Yuuri said.

“That’s not really hard.”

“Ugh,” Yuuri winced, but he resumed anyway. “You speak four languages.”

“You speak three, and being able to say ‘Thank you but I’m gay’ doesn’t mean I speak French.”

“You’re good at speaking in public.”

“I always say the same things,” Victor rolled his eyes.

“When Yuri twisted his ankle you knew how to wrap it and the nurse didn’t even redo it.”

“I’ve seen it done like four times on each of my ankles.”

Yuuri sighed deeply. “Alright, you suck!” he chuckled. “And not in a good way!”

Victor had a theatrical offended gasp. Yuuri hugged him.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to hear it but you’re the best skater in history and it’s a part of you. Maybe you’d have had time to learn how to cook if you hadn't traveled the world to win everything you could, but I don’t think a lot of people can say that they are the best of all time at something, I’m not even the best Japanese skater of the decade…”

“Yuuri…”

“I don’t care that you can’t cook,” Yuuri assured, “I love you no matter how many breakfasts you burn.”

Victor had a shy smile and hugged his husband back. Yuuri was nice and cozy in his arms, until he opened his eyes again and had a glance at the kitchen. He tensed.

“How did you smash twelve eggs all at once?”

“I dropped the box because I had cream on my fingers and then Makka ran over the three that were still good,” Victor sighed, defeated. “Let me just wash my face and I’ll clean that up.”

“I don’t think so,” Yuuri said as he held Victor tight to keep him against his chest. He wiped a drop of batter off Victor’s naked side with the tip of his finger and licked it so very slowly. “It’s my turn to make a mess and get dirty. We can clean up later.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come and see me on [Tumblr](https://dontstopyurinow.tumblr.com/) !


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